


hold onto me as we go (as we roll down this unfamiliar road)

by shadowdance



Series: where the worlds clash together [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Localized Names, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 20:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7004533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowdance/pseuds/shadowdance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Things that you don't plan; are they good or bad?)</p><p>Odin learns a thing or two about family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold onto me as we go (as we roll down this unfamiliar road)

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled: The Fic That Kicked My Ass For Six Months. I went all out and that was a bad idea. It's a little(very) long. Title comes from 'Home' by Phillip Phillips.  
> spoilers and the like; big revelations spoilers, so haven't played it, i'd advise not reading this. i started writing this prior to actually playing revelations, so i believe some things are out of order; i'll fix it later. (re: never) if you want to correct me on the things, though, please do tell me!

* * *

 

Leo says, “We’re almost at the end of the war.” There is little light under the craven, but the tiniest shaft of brightness shines in his eyes, his face.

Zero licks his lips. “Oh yeah? How do you know? Did your dear sister _Kamui_ tell you?” When Leo winces, he smirks.

Odin knows that this is the moment he jumps in, the part in the script where he declares the war is some kind of beautifully dangerous challenge, but he can’t really move himself to speak. Leo and Zero stare at him, waiting for his input, but there is nothing but silence.

Leo turns back to Zero and rolls his eyes. “Zero—it’s just something, okay? All of the Hoshidans and Nohrians are together now, a stronger force. This real threat—he won’t stand a chance.”  
  
Another pointed look. Odin does not say anything. Odin does not meet their eyes.

Odin _does_ think of the land back home, where Lissa and his father pace back and forth anxiously, where his old friends sit and look out the window and grieve, where everyone most likely assumes he’s _dead_.

The end of the war means he can go home, prove them wrong. Odin misses all of them so, so, much. Lazward and Luna make great company, but it wasn’t—it’s not the same with them. They’re in love, and they share this tight bond that Odin can’t severe, that he can’t just get. It’s just something _different_.

Zero lolls his head backwards. “I don’t understand when you became Mister Optimistic, Leo.”  
  
Leo looks straight at Odin, and the dark mage ducks his head, looks at his feet. They both know that he’s leaving, as soon as this war is over. It’s not going to be an easy goodbye, to say the least.

“Who says I’m optimistic?” Leo asks, and Odin can hear the unspoken words.

_Who says I’m optimistic, when I’m going to lose one of my retainers?_

.

.

.

Touma is big; it’s a wide kingdom cloaked under layers of darkness. It kind of reminds Odin of a wasteland where _survival_ wasn’t entirely in his odds, so it’s kind of natural that he remains silent and afraid as they venture through.

They find out King Garon is not the man who has started the war, not his spirit, not his soul; rather, it was Anankos, tugging on his arms and legs, playing him like a puppet. He’s not the man Leo grew up with; when Odin looks at him, his face is expressionless.

Luna says, “He did _what_.” Her hands tremble, eyes narrowed into slits. She doesn’t look nervous, just—mad.

Odin casts a nervous glance at her. “Luna, you seem-”

“ _Gods_ ,” Luna interrupts, as if she’s reading his thoughts; she glares at him rather harshly. “Gods, don’t you _get_ it? Anankos fucked with them, screwed their family over, what the-”

“Never been much of a family girl,” Lazward says dryly. It’s the wrong time to say it, and Odin was going to say that when Luna sighs, her shoulders falling and the angry expression melting away.

She draws in a breath. “I’m fine.”  
  
Odin doesn’t believe her. Odin doesn’t believe a lot of things. “Luna-”

“Gods, I’m _fine_!” She straightens her back and whirls around, red pigtails lashing in the air. She stomps towards Lady Camilla, and Odin and Lazward watch her go.

“What’s gotten into her?” Odin asks, and Lazward wipes his forehead. “Luna the Crimson _has_ always loved her family…do you suppose Matoi has something to do with this strange outburst? Perhaps it’s a spell?”  
  
“We have a daughter,” Lazward says abruptly. He isn’t looking at Odin, so he doesn’t see the way the words impact his friend.

Water gushes in Odin’s ears; his heart literally skips a beat and he chokes on the air, sputters as he understands _Lazward is a father, Luna is a mother._ It’s not—easy to comprehend.

He finds his voice, after a minute. “And you didn’t bother to tell me? When did this happen?”  
  
Lazward sighs, runs his fingers through his gray hair. “Honestly? She didn’t tell me at first. I didn’t find out until, y’know.”  
  
“Oh, _Naga_ ,” Odin groans, putting his head in his hands. Lazward chews his lip, his expression reading _sorry_.

“I was going to tell you. I was, next time it was just you and me. But-”

“Where is she?” Odin interrupts, and he knows he sounds pretty pissed but he doesn’t care, not now. “Where is this mystical being, the wondrous girl that is your _daughter_? Wouldn’t she be with us, fighting-”

“She’s safe, if you must know!” Lazward snaps, and Odin feels the tension crackling in the air, so strong it almost electrifies him. “We put her in—in this other world, where no enemy can get to her. She’s not here.” His tone wobbles near the end, a resolution of sadness, and it slightly dampens Odin’s anger.

He slumps his shoulders. “I can’t believe it.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Lazward says, and he sounds officially defeated, worn-out and begging for forgiveness. “I’m really, really, sorry.”

This kind of thing can’t be forgiven right away, not completely; still, Odin feels his anger slowly ebbing away. They’ve been best friends for so long— _too_ long for this bond to be severed, especially in such a dark time like this. He doesn’t say anything.

Lazward shifts on his foot, seemingly giving up. He starts to walk away, and Odin almost lets him—except, not quite.

“Hey,” he calls out, and Lazward raises his head, a puzzled look on his face. “You’re just going to tell me that you have a daughter, and not tell me her name?”  
  
Lazward blinks, and breaks into a hesitant smile. “Soleil,” he says, and Odin bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile. “Her name is Soleil.”

.

.

.

Odin is alone, flipping through a tomb, when he hears a noise and his hands are suddenly encased in fire.

Zero steps out; his tongue lolls on his lips for a moment, a wicked smile appearing. “Relax,” he says. “It’s only me. For lack of better word, though, maybe you should still keep the fire pointed at me.”  
  
“Zero of the Still Night is an ally,” Odin says, and the fire dies in his hands. “And, you work for Leo too. Why would I strike down my dear partner with fire?”  
  
“Reasons,” Zero says solemnly, and Odin laughs. Zero rolls his eyes, clucking his tongue, and comes just a bit closer. “So I heard about your best friend.”

This, of course, wipes the smile right off Odin’s face. “Huh?”

Zero crouches down, and scoops up some of the dead soil. It crumbles in his fingertips, seeping through little cracks. “Soleil, Lazward. Not telling you. Are you hurt by it?” A bit of his tone is mocking, and unconventionally pity. Odin knows that admitting the truth, though, would not really help his case; Zero would tease him because he’s Zero, he’s a sadist and he likes seeing people in pain. Odin doesn’t really want to give him that satisfaction.

“Not much,” he says, and Zero masks his disappointment well.

“Maybe you are more like me, Odin,” he says. “Set up for disappointing surprises?”

Perhaps so, Odin thinks, pulling his knees up. The world is full of surprises, and he’s never liked them ever since the cruel surprise of family death punched him in the face. But ready or not, here they come.

.

.

.

Lazward sinks next to Odin at the end of the day; his face and eyes are tired, but there is a light of apprehensiveness as he scavenges Odin’s face.

“I saw you talking to Zero today,” he says. “What was that about?”

Odin shrugs. He doesn’t really feel like sharing, particularly. “Zero stirring trouble.”

“Did he mention any good ways to pick up girls?” Lazward says mischievously, and Odin can’t help but smile at his best friend’s idiocy.

“If Luna the Crimson hears that, she shall have your head.”  
  
Lazward raises his arms in mock defeat. “Hey, I’m not saying I want to flirt with other girls. I love Luna, and she scares the crap out of me sometimes.”  
  
“The smartest thing that Lazward of the Blue Skies has ever said,” Odin jokes, and Lazward rolls his eyes.

“And I’m not saying that _you_ should date her, anyways. Been talking to Belka lately?”  
  
Odin’s cheeks flush hot. “Keep your big nose out of other’s people business.”

“I’m your best friend. I’m _supposed_ to butt in your business.” Lazward pauses, and then adds quickly: “I’m still your best friend, right?”

Odin sighs. Across from them, the sun is making its usual path downwards, hiding behind mountains. Its glow is not gone yet, though; one bright ray dances in his eyes, and he rubs the light out wearily.

“Yeah, of course you are. I can’t lose you and Luna out here.”  
  
Lazward exhales, and smiles slightly. “Thanks. And I _am_ sorry for not telling you. I know you’re looking forward to going home the most-”

Home. Odin digs his nails into his palms and ignores the tidal wave of longing crashing against his chest.

Lazward notices, and stops abruptly. Then he says, softly, “I want you to be her godfather.”

Odin pauses, glances at his best friend. “You’re _joking_.”  
  
“No,” Lazward says, shifting on his seat. “I really want you to.”

Odin stares, and it suddenly registers to him how _old_ it seems to him. It feels like, not long ago, he was once playing in the yard with wooden swords and a dream of being a hero. And here he is now, with his best friend, who has a _daughter_.

“Very well,” he says, and Lazward beams. “But I must meet this fair maiden first.”

.

.

.

Meet her, he does. She’s a pretty young lady with her mother’s red hair and her father’s _dear_ personality. She is probably about three, four, when Odin meets her, although he _knows_ it hasn’t been that many years.

“Soleil, this is your Uncle Odin,” Lazward says, and the words sound strange, foreign to Odin’s ears. “Say hi!”

Soleil studies him, up and down, and smiles shyly. “Hi, Uncle Odin,” she says, and then buries her face into her father’s leg. Lazward laughs, and Luna cracks a small smile.

“Hello, Soleil,” Odin says, gazing down at the little girl, tugging on her father’s hand. She offers another small smile, and he crouches down to her level.

“Want to see something magnificent?” he asks, and she glances tentatively at her father before nodding slowly at the mage. Odin chuckles, and sifts through his bag, pulling out a fire tome and opening it. The words are strange and foreign, even as his eyes dart over the spells he knows so well, his brain recalling the incantations that has saved his life, many times. And it takes a lot of his energy to conjure the fire in his hands, it really does, but in the end it’s worth it, with the flame bobbing in the air and Soleil’s eyes growing wide. She tugs on her father’s hand, anxiously.

“Daddy, do you see this? Daddy, look!” She crouches down, even lower, admiring the orange flame. Odin smiles, as she marvels the intake of magic. Somewhere in his feelings he can detect sadness, but you know, that’s _okay_. It’s okay to be sad once and awhile. It’s good.

He closes his hand, extinguishing the flickering orange light, and smiles at Soleil. “Perhaps another day I shall show the Mercenary’s Daughter another magic trick,” he assures the girl, and she smiles cheekily. Her eyes are still round, and they still flicker with the light from the now dead fire.

(Her eyes are purple, like another woman’s. A woman with pale pink hair and a graceful way of moving that no one else has.

Odin wonders if Lazward has noticed, and then he realizes: Soleil’s wearing _her_ headband. And that kind of answers his question.).

.

.

.

Luna elbows him, hard. “Have you ever thought about children, Odin?” she asks, poising the question in an honest and casual question. Still, Odin can see her trademark smirk, curling at the edge of her lips, as the words sink in his brain and he sputters at the question, openmouthed and terrified.

“I-I don’t know,” he says, but his mind is screaming a different answer. “I mean—maybe?”

Luna studies his face, his eyes, and a small half-smile stretches across her lips. She says, “Belka likes you. I wonder _why_ sometimes, but she does.”

He coughs. “Uh, thanks?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Luna scoops up a pile of dirt, letting it fall through her fingers. The sunlight is dying, rays withdrawing from the sky, but one particular sunbeam strikes her hair, giving the impression it’s on fire. “I think you should…you know.”

Odin feels his face flush hot; he’s certain it’s the color of her hair. “ _Luna_ -”

“She’s not a roadblock,” Luna interrupts, and there is something so fierce in her tone, so sharp that it makes Odin’s counterarguments crumble on his tongue. “Becoming friends with people, falling in love—they’re not stopping you from heading home. Tangling with these people is not a bad thing.”  
  
It’s like she’s a mind-reader or something. Odin pokes her hip, and forces an easy grin on his face. “Wow, I suppose Luna the Crimson has a hidden talent inside of her: wisdom. I did not know that existed in her soul.”  
  
Luna blows her bangs out of her face, crosses her arms and glares at him. “Are you daft?” she snaps, and Odin feels a rush of her familiar sting; _this_ is the Luna he knows. “I’ve always been smart. Now just—go buy a ring or something. Prove that you aren’t a stupid lug. _Honestly_.”

.

.

.

Belka looks up when he walks toward her; a book is spread across her lap, the pages worn-out and old. “Hi,” she says, a smile playing softly on her lips. “You need something?”  
  
Odin slides his hands in his bag. The ring is heavy when he closes his fingers around it. “Yeah,” he responds, and his heart feels lighter than it has in ages. “I need to talk to you.”

.

.

.

When Ophelia is born, Odin is a mess.

He doesn’t know how to be a parent, first off, because his father died when he was young and when he met his youthful father it was an assembly of awkwardness and shock, from both sides. But what Odin knows from his father is that babies require lots of care and time,and attention. For one, it’s not a good idea to be a parent during a war, and there’s a guilty part of him chanting over and over, “She’s just slowing you down from getting home, she’s just slowing you down from getting home.”  
  
(He tells that part of himself to shut up.)

Belka looks strange when she holds Ophelia in her arms; there is a mixture of sadness and happiness in her face, and Odin doesn’t know the real reason but he has a good guess. She’d never gotten love from her own parents; this makes Odin laugh dryly, at the irony. Oh, the two people who are hopeless at being parents, now have a daughter themselves. Ha, ha. Hilarious.

Now, he watches Belka cradle Ophelia, as the girl opens her mouth in a tiny wail. For a second, Belka looks mildly panicked, before her expression smoothens over into a blank look. “It’s okay,” she says, in a voice that Odin has _never_ heard from her, and Ophelia’s wails die down, wide eyes traveling up Belka’s face. “It’s okay, you’re not alone, I’m here.” She pauses, slightly, and then adds in a trembling voice, “Your mother is right here.”

Odin drops the tent flap, turning away to look at the stars. He feels—wrong. Like he has seen something that he didn’t mean to. It’s a strange feeling and it kind of makes him miss his parents, more than ever.

For a moment, he stands there, breathes in, and then turns on his heel and walks away.

.

.

.

Lazward stops by to see the baby. It’s a strange meeting, what with Odin introducing his best friend to his daughter, but he’s glad for it anyways.

“Luna’s seen her,” Odin explains, as Lazward studies Ophelia and says nothing. “She says that your wondrous beauty that is named Soleil is much prettier than Ophelia.”  
  
Lazward snorts. “’Course she said that,” he remarks. “She’s gotten a lot more competitive in Nohr. Hopefully Soleil doesn’t pick that up.”

Odin says nothing, just rocks Ophelia back and forth gently. Lazward hesitates, and then says softly, “What are you going to do with her?”

Odin raises an eyebrow and pretends not to know what his best friend is talking about. Lazward sighs, runs his fingers through his hair.

“You can’t ride into battle with a baby strapped to your back, Odin.”

This is something that has occurred to Odin. He adjusts the small weight in his arms and shrugs. “I know so,” he says. “The Chosen One thinks of everything.”

Lazward tilts his head to the side. “Where are you going to put her?”

Odin shuffles his feet and stares at the ground. In his arms, Ophelia babbles gibberish and claws determinedly for Odin’s headband. He places it against her body, and she closes her eyes, fingers wrapped around the headband.

Lazward studies this. Then he says, “I know it’s not what you want to do, but a little girl like that doesn’t belong in the war.”

Odin doesn’t know what to say to this, even with a million thoughts running in his head. Lazward hesitates, and then squeezes his shoulder, stepping out and saying that he’ll be back soon. Odin watches him go, and then places Ophelia in her crib and blows out the candle.

.

.

.

Lazward’s words have an impact, because the next morning Odin scavenges the camp, looking for his wife. He finds her next to Luna, polishing her axe, and he runs up to her and hisses, “Can we discuss something important? Privately?”

Luna scoffs; her hair is not up in its usual pigtails, the scarlet waves skimming against her knees. “Take your time,” she tells Belka. “I’ll tell Lady Camilla you had an unavoidable intervention. _You’re_ on your own, though, Odin,” she adds to him, before leaving him alone with Belka.

The former assassin looks at him quizzically, setting the axe on the ground. “Is this about Ophelia?”  
  
“What are we going to do about her?” Odin answers her with another question, and Belka sighs, crossing her arms. “Ophelia is not ready to see the flames of wars, we have to do _something_.”  
  
A strange emotion flickers across Belka’s face; she shifts on her weight. “Well,” she says, “I’ve been thinking. Most people would drop their child off with other family members, right?”  
  
“I cannot take Ophelia back to my native lands,” Odin says, and he thinks of his parents, thinking to what they would say. Belka nods, pressing her thumb in her palm.

“I would assume the journey would be long. Another option, I suppose…”  
  
She doesn’t mention her family. Odin decides not to, either. Her ‘family’ is quite messed up, and it always makes her sad, so Odin often pretends he forgot about them.

“The Secluded Realms is the other option,” Belka says finally, and when Odin glances at her she shrugs helplessly. “The place where Lazward put Soleil. There’s…one problem.” She waits for his response, but when Odin doesn’t say anything, she presses forward. “Time changes.”  
  
Odin isn’t an expert on time or anything, but he _has_ traveled through it and he understands what Belka is implicating.

“No.”

Belka sighs. “Odin-”

“She won’t have her parents with her,” Odin cuts off, and his voice is trembling and his hands are shaking and there is a clammy feeling rising up in his throat. “I want Ophelia to have both of her parents watch her grow up, because my parents weren’t there and-”

Belka catches his hand, lowering it and forcing him to look at her in the eyes. “Odin,” she says, firmly. “It’s the only choice we have.” (In other words: _I get it, I understand completely, it’s going to be all right.)_

He steadies his breathing, focusing on Belka’s grip on his hand and nothing else. Even though the war is raging beyond them, he feels like he has already been defeated, lost everything that he ever had.

“Okay,” he allows, energy draining out of his voice. “All right.”

Belka squeezes his hand, and then lets go, taking off running towards her wyvern. Odin remains standing there, feeling the need to move, but somehow immovable.

He wonders when his father marched off to battle for the last time, if this is how he felt, turning his back on his only child and unsure if he will ever see him again. He gets the feeling he doesn’t want to know.

.

.

.

Lazward and Luna accompany him to the other realm; Belka grows rigid near the entrance of the other realm, so she hovers there, waiting. Ophelia is a bundle of blankets in Odin’s arms, light as a feather, even as his tread is heavy.

Soleil is sitting on a hill when they are deep within the realm; her hair is growing longer, falling past her shoulders now. She looks a bit older than the last visit, seemingly a bit taller and losing her baby face, and Odin glances down at his daughter, wondering if that would happen to her. When he looks back up, Soleil briefly meets his gaze before turning her attention towards Lazward.

“Daddy, you came to see me?” she asks, her tone containing surprise, and Odin glances at Lazward; he sees a trace of guilt flicker in his eyes before disappearing.

“Well, kind of. This is a short trip. Daddy is accompanying Uncle Odin on a trip—you do remember Odin, right?”

Soleil nods, her eyes wide and questioning as Odin kneels down next to her. He asks, “Do you think you can hold her?”  
The little girl holds her arms out willingly, and Odin studies Ophelia one last time. Her face is peaceful as she sleeps, a shaft of moonlight shining in her hair. He places her in Soleil’s arms.

Soleil’s nose wrinkles when she looks at Ophelia. “Baby?”  
  
“Ophelia,” Odin corrects, and suddenly his throat is tight and he can’t speak. Luna swoops in for him, kneeling next to her daughter.

“This is Uncle Odin’s daughter,” she explains sweetly. “Her name is Ophelia. Uncle Odin loves her a lot, but something bad came up and now she has to live here. Can you make sure she doesn’t run into any trouble?”  
  
Soleil tilts her head to the side, and then nods slowly. Odin smiles at her, and Lazward ruffles her hair.

“Good girl.” He straightens up. “Shoot, it’s time to go. Ready, Odin?”  
  
That’s a redundant question _, of course_ he’s not ready to go, but somehow Odin manages a nod. Luna smiles, kind of grimly, at her daughter, before turning on her heel to leave, and Odin follows her out with Lazward. He doesn’t look back.

Lazward squeezes his shoulder. “Hey, now,” he says. “You can visit her, every now and again.”  
  
Odin nods again. He feels like that is the only thing he can do. “Right,” he replies. “I will.”

His words are utterly deceiving, but he closes his eyes and tries to believe in them, anyways.

.

.

.

He makes trips with Belka to go visit Ophelia, but not as many as he would prefer. The problem is quite obvious (the _war_ ), so Odin has to make sure no one got injured, as well as stacking up his tomes for the next battle, and of course, he has to check with Leo to make sure it’s okay, and he has to confirm that no, he won’t be leaving, not this time, he just needs to see his daughter.

Belka doesn’t have that problem with Camilla, but she’s not the type to cut and run, which is exactly what Odin warned Leo about himself when he got the job.

But when Odin does manage to cut the ties away just for a bit to see Ophelia, it’s worth it. She looks older now, often playing with Soleil, and if Odin didn’t know better he would think Ophelia is barely any younger than Soleil. But that’s not the case.

There is still a childish gleam in her eye, though, when she looks up and sees her parents; she still runs to them and hugs them and tells them everything, her voice loud and excited and simply magical. Sometimes, though, when he listens, he must look a little funny, because Ophelia stops and asks him if he’s okay, is something wrong. He shakes his head.

“No, just thinking,” he answers, and next to him Belka raises an eyebrow but says nothing. And Ophelia just shrugs her shoulders, her suspicions dissolving, and goes on about how she went looking for some really special flower and never found it, or so forth. He tries to lose himself in the story, but he can’t help but look at her and think, _you already look so old._

He is glad that she is turning out okay. That’s the important thing. But as he watches the years waste away on his daughter, he still feels a tiny pinch in his stomach.

.

.

.

Leo says, “I thought you would have left now.” His eyes are dark as he takes a seat next to his subordinate.

Odin shakes his head. “I would never leave my dear master hanging by a thread,” he says, waving his hands wildly for effect. Leo raises an eyebrow.

“That’s not what you told me, when I hired you.”

Uh, right. Odin bites his tongue, ducking his head down. Leo leans forward, and Odin is close enough to see the color of his eyes; they are chocolate brown, but they swirl with emotions and thus change the colors.

“Odin,” Leo says, and the mage braces himself, “you’ve been kind of…distant, lately. You say it’s about your daughter, but if you’re planning to leave, I’d much rather have the truth.”  
  
“I don’t leave my fellow comrades in battle,” Odin says sharply, so sharply that it makes Leo lean back, surprise etched on his face. Odin takes a breath and continues. “A strange force has tethered me into Nohr, having me stay longer than anticipated. Luna and Lazward have admitted to stay as long as necessary, and as long as my mercenary friends are here, I am as well. And, uh,” he adds, when Leo’s eyes narrow, “I’ll give you a warning before I leave.”

Leo sighs, raising a hand to his forehead. “A lot of my older sister’s subordinates tended to leave,” he informs Odin, and the dark mage is quite unsure what that has to do with anything. “Run when she got in a bad spot. ‘Course, they never got far, she chased them down with an axe, but I’ve never had that problem and never wanted that problem. When you came, though, and told me that you planned on leaving someday…I wouldn’t be surprised.”

He stands up to go. Odin is unsure what to do, so he springs to his feet as well. Leo regards his subordinate, and a twitch of the lips concludes that he is hiding a smile.

“Don’t leave in the middle of the battle, and you’ll be okay.”

Odin thinks of Belka, swinging her axe in battle, and Ophelia, sitting on green grass and wondering if her father was going to visit her. “I won’t,” he says. “I promise.”

.

.

.

In the next town over, they find mercenaries and bandits and Soleil.

Odin hangs back with Lazward, watching his best friend’s eyes widen with shock, and then harden with worry. Luna sinks next to him and gives him a look; he nods imperceptibly, and then runs towards his daughter, attacking so with such brute force that no one even dares to try and follow him. Luna falls against Belka, and Zero slides next to Odin. “C’mon,” he says, his eyes shining black in the light, “let’s kill a few bandits.”

In the end, the former thief ends up defeating most of their enemies, because Odin’s mind is wandering, all the way back to the Secluded Realms and wondering if his own daughter is okay, or if she left the Realms as well. The fact that he doesn’t know sends a very tight squeeze in his heart.

Luna defeats the last of the bandits, and Odin watches as Lazward and Soleil weave their way through the crowd, towards her. When they reach her, Luna slings her arm around Soleil in a halfway hug and Lazward ruffles her hair. Their daughter looks appalled at first, still a little shocked and scared, but regains her wit and composure in a minute, flashing a familiar smile to her parents.

Odin is so enthralled in this scene that he doesn’t hear Belka until she clears her throat; he jumps, and she stretches her mouth in a half-smile. “She’s grown,” she says softly, and Odin doesn’t need to ask who ‘she’ is.

“A tremendous growth,” he agrees, and something flickers in Belka’s eyes. She tilts her head and melts away into the shadows, presumably towards Lady Camilla. Odin shrugs his shoulders, and wanders over to greet his old friend.

Lazward grins at Odin when he sees him. “Soleil,” he says, drawing his daughter closer to his body, “say hi to Uncle Odin.”

She grins at him, flustered, and Odin studies her carefully. She has gotten taller, yes, and her red hair sweeps behind her, the headband ( _Olivia’s_ headband) holding it in place.

He tries to return the smile, but he suddenly feels very lightheaded. “Look how tall you have gotten!” he exclaims, and Soleil giggles. “I would think someone cast a spell on you! I think you’ve got your mother’s natural beauty as well…not so much from your father.”

Soleil laughs, and then her expression flattens and she says kind of seriously, “I think you should visit Ophelia.”

Odin feels his smile drop, just a bit. “Huh?”

Soleil rubs the back of her neck; her face is as red as her hair now. “Ha…she misses you. Before I left, she told me that.” Her eyes are wide and clear, staring into Odin’s.

He’s not sure what he can say to that. But it has been awhile since he’s visited his daughter, he admits, and that’s not something to be proud of.

“If I can afford the time,” he says, and Soleil’s mouth puckers.

“Well,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, “she is your daughter, and-” she stops, and then shrugs again. “Okay.”

Odin thinks he knows what her missing words are; Ophelia is his daughter and he should _always_ afford the time to see her. This does not make him feel much better.

Lazward is looking at him, and so is Luna; there is a question burning in their eyes, but Odin won’t meet their gaze. He turns around, a bounce in his foot, and towards Prince Leo, the question already poised on his tongue.

.

.

.

He can’t go, because of course they need _supplies_ and it’s too dangerous to venture out now and a billion other excuses. Odin almost protests, but then Belka’s nodding at Leo and pulling Odin away by the elbow. When she lets go, he glares at her and rubs his arm.

“You’re leaving him,” she reminds him flatly. “Suspicious.” Odin opens mouth to argue, but then closes it. Leo has every right to be so.

Belka shrugs, squeezes his shoulder and then she’s gone again, working like magic. Odin sighs and falls into lines next to Zero, who casts a glance at him but says nothing for once.

They are in a random town when Odin feels – some sort of magic energy. His body trembles, fire shooting through his blood, and when Zero asks him if he’s okay he can only respond, “I feel a magical presence, something…something in my aching blood!”

Zero just shakes his head; he speaks, probably reprimanding him, but Odin can’t hear him. His blood does feel like it’s burning, his veins coiling in on itself and it’s painful, but it also means something. That there is importance there.

Then he sees her.

Her eyes are gray, wide and perceptive, hair falling long and teal down her shoulders, and yellow cape swishing behind her every time she skips. She looks positively pleased, a wide smile stretched across her lips and befuddling words falling from her mouth.

It can’t be – no, that’s not his daughter, Odin tells himself, but then the girl sees him and her face illuminates. “Father!”

Odin barely has time to catch the smirk on Zero’s face before Ophelia flings herself at him, tiny arms wrapped around his waist. “Hi, Father!” she exclaims, giggling like a lunatic. “Wow – I can’t believe it! It’s been way too long, hasn’t it?”  
  
The words are like a slap to the face, a dull blow; Odin twists around and sees Belka, reins tangled around her fingers, a pained expression on her face. Lazward is a few feet behind her, chewing his lip, and Odin knows that if Soleil weren’t to exist, Lazward would be laughing at him.

“Why are you here?” Odin asks, and fear creeps up on him like a shadow, threatening to suffocate him. “Why are you in my world?”

And she explains. Ophelia is looking for a tome, some sort of magical tome and when she says the name, The Super-Ultimate Tome from his idea book, the words _oh, shit_ surface to Odin’s head.

Yeah, Lazward would _definitely_ be laughing at him right now.

“Ophelia,” he begins, slowly bringing the harsh reality down to her (because oh, that’s all it is when you live in the real world), but then there is a loud yell and then, of course, a battle.

Odin grabs onto Ophelia’s wrist when Kamui starts making battle preparations. “Stay close to me,” he warns. “This will get messy.” There are a million other words he wants to say (“I’m sorry”) but they get stuck in his throat.

But Ophelia nods and presses against him. She’s always been her father’s daughter, after all.

.

.

.

The battle ends swiftly, mostly thanks to Belka and Odin. Odin knows that Belka is a former killer, designed to attack on battlefields, but she seemed to strike with more vengeance, particularly more demon than wyvern rider on the battlefield. Odin gets why; because every time he turns around Ophelia is there, smiling and cheering on her father, protecting him from what could’ve been deathblows, and it’s sweetly terrifying. Sweet, because she’s his daughter, and terrifying, because she’s here on the battlefield, fighting.

At the end of the battle, Odin has to break the truth to her. The light in Ophelia’s eyes crumples, and she looks fairly disappointed – something Odin suspected. She sighs and runs her fingers through her hair. This is not something Odin likes; he is all but disappointment to her. It’s not how he wanted his child to view him.

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a tome; it is new but worn, the cover velvet and leather. He presses it in Ophelia’s hands, and says, “I want you to name it. And I want you to _come_ with me.” He hears Ophelia’s gasp, a wisp of excitement and shock, and he smiles shyly ( _shyly_ , at his own daughter).

“Missiletainn,” she decides, and Odin’s eyes grow wide. “That was the last name in your wondrous book. I liked it. It has a ring to it.”

She smiles at her father’s dumbstruck expression, and then pecks his cheek quickly before zigzagging through the crowd to throw her arms around Belka. Odin smiles, briefly, but then he sees Ophelia’s sleeve pulls up and he stops.

It’s blazed on her arm, big and blue, curving around her forearm. It won’t ever disappear, and while it isn’t really big, it is still there, branded on her skin like a strange birthmark. He guesses Ophelia thinks that’s what it is; well, the truth won’t her, but he can’t break it to her now.

He sighs. “Mother,” he says. The word slips off his tongue awkwardly, unfamiliar and messy. He presses on. “Mother, my wondrous angel has the Brand of the Exalt on her skin.”

.

.

.

“This is probably _not_ what you had in mind,” Lazward says. They are standing by a clump of trees and watching Ophelia skip and twirl, with Soleil stumbling after her. She is adept at that sort of things, dancing, singing. It doesn’t mean she can’t try.

Odin shrugs. “Oh, you know,” he replies, not even trying to sound excited. “She’s not a child anymore.” He wishes she was, and he wishes he was there to see it, but fate is cruel sometimes. (Fate, or his own choice. He doesn’t like to think about it.)

There are many flowers in Lazward’s hands. His long fingers are stringing them together, but he doesn’t look awkward or uncomfortable; the flowers are chained easily, and it’s clear he knows what he’s doing. “Time is a piece of shit,” he says without flinching; Odin creases a side of his mouth into a smile.

“Time is essence, time flows and it runs in our blood,” he prods. Lazward rolls his eyes at him again; another flower is twisted around the green vines.

He says, “That didn’t make sense. But then again, neither do our children. You did see Ophelia-”

The blood in Odin’s veins run cold. “You saw it?”

“Contrary to belief, I’m not stupid.” Lazward offers a smile to Odin, but he can’t see the mercenary’s teeth. “And yes, I _did_ see the mark, and knowing your daughter she probably believes it’s the mark of a Chosen One, and knowing Belka she probably thinks it’s just a really weird birthmark.”

“Well, it kind of _is_ a mark of a Chosen One,” Odin mutters, but he’s a little abashed. He really cannot believe that against all odds, Ophelia still inherited his Brand, dug deeply in her skin. “She just doesn’t know that yet.”

Lazward’s fingers have stopped moving; they hover awkwardly in-between stringing a flower on the line. “Are you going to tell her?”

This is not the conversation Odin wants to have right now. He fiddles with a blade of grass, tearing it to shreds, watching as Lazward’s big fingers daintily arrange the flowers. “Before the untimely departure, yes, I will.”

Lazward doesn’t look up, doesn’t seem to acknowledge this. His hands finish the last flower band. He sets it aside on his knee, and then gets to work making another one, his fingers twisting carefully and plucking the flowers gently. Odin wonders what he should say, as the silence spans from seconds to minutes.

He’s debating leaving when Lazward finishes. It’s a bit more lopsided, not as long as the other one, obvious that he spent less time on it, but nevertheless still beautiful; something only Lazward could pull off. He puts that one on his own head, and then stands up, the other flower headband in his hands. He holds it carefully, like carrying a crown – which it is. “Everyone deserves the truth,” he says, and places the chain of flowers on Odin’s head.

.

.

.

Leo and Zero walk with him through the spiraling tunnels that supposedly lead to Anankos. Odin doesn’t object to this, although he does catch Luna’s eye, and sees she is with Belka and Camilla. He assumes Lazward is with Pieri and Xander, then, and when he cranes his head back he sees Ophelia walking next to a little girl with spriggy pigtails. She beams at Odin, and he nods before turning back.

“We’re close,” Leo says, breaking a rigid silence. “Kamui isn’t as incompetent as I bet on. She – she’s almost got him, Anankos.”

Zero rolls his neck back. “Milord,” he practically purrs, “if that is what you're saying, than why are we lurking behind with you?”

“You can do whatever you want.” Leo’s eyes zero in on Odin; the latter gulps nervously. “I’m talking to Odin.”

Zero snorts, but he lingers besides Leo. Odin’s mouth grows dry; he’d much rather prefer Zero to walk ahead. He doesn’t really want Zero to hear Leo talk about his leaving.

“Lord Leo, I already promised you,” Odin blurts out; the words sneak off his tongue without permission. “I’m not going to-”

“It’s not me who I’m talking about,” Leo says coldly. “Over the course of this war, I’ve learned a lot about family. And you have one.”  
Odin shuts up, abruptly. Zero sucks in his breath and murmurs, “This is going to get interesting.”

Leo’s eyes are dark, trailing up and down Odin’s face. “My best friend is Hoshidan,” he says quietly (Zero puts a hand over his heart mockingly, as though he is hurt). “Prince Takumi. And we fought his parents and we watched them die—I think again, his parents have been dead for a bit. And it made me—you realize your family is important, right? That you have to play father, or brother, or whatever role you are. If you leave, you’re just _absent_.”

Odin flushes red, feels something creep up his spine. “Leo,” he says, “Death has a grip-”

“You and I know well enough you won’t die!” Leo snaps, so much force in his tone that Odin almost stumbles and Zero looks surprised, mouth falling slightly agape. “You say you’re immortal, and your child remembers you as such when she looks at you. Don’t tell me that death will separate you because you said you’ll make it out of this war.” He swallows, and then adds, “If you leave, Ophelia won’t know what happened, because you’re a goddamn _father_. Leave her, and leave Belka, and what do you have? Questions and an absence one has to fill.”

Odin just stands there, blinking, his chest rising rapidly and falling. Leo ducks his head, almost bashful enough that he said it. It’s not in his nature; Odin didn’t know he had it in him.

“My family,” Odin says; the words spill out quickly and he doesn’t know what he’s saying. “My mother and father. They—I left. I left them and no beseeching words fell from my tongue and my blood roared for them but nothing happened. I can hear their wolf cries sometimes, when I sleep.” He sounds ridiculous, this is the only time he’s aware of it, but he can’t stop. “They miss me, and I miss them. Their only son left them. I’m returning back to them. What now? Am I still selfish and absent?” The words grow venomous on his tongue, and he practically spits out the last ones. Zero’s eye is wide, and he’s glancing between Leo and Odin. The dark mage can’t back down; his nostrils flare and this time he really does feel fire coursing through his veins, working its way in his system.

“Up for you to decide,” Leo says stiffly. He looks hardly bothered, but he won’t meet Odin’s eyes.

.

.

.

There is a break before they go battle Anankos. Kamui wants them to rest, or something; Odin doesn’t know, but there is a very grim air, very similar to the one in his first war.

His daughter sits at the edge of grass, her sleeves pulled over her arms, hair sprawled down her shoulders. She’s tilting her face at the sun, squinting, and Odin makes his way over to her.

“Ophelia,” he says, crouching down next to her; Ophelia beams at him, a little ray of sunshine. His heart twists. “Ready to face the Evilest Demons of them all?”

Ophelia rolls her eyes. “Oh, Father,” she replies, “I’m sure he’s not that bad. Nothing that Ophelia Dusk and her wondrous father can take on!”

Leo is right, he always is. Odin swallows and slaps a smile on his face anyways, because this is Ophelia, after all. “Of course.”

They sit in silence for awhile, and then Ophelia blurts out, “Father—I have the mark. The mark of the Chosen One, I think.”

She’s talking about the Brand, of course, and when she rolls up her sleeve it’s like a sucker-punch to the chest. Odin feels his chest rise and fall, but it’s like—he can’t breathe, even as he inhales.

“But I’m not _sure_ if it’s the Chosen One’s brand,” Ophelia adds hastily, when Odin only stares at the blue mark. “I mean—I hope it is. But is it? Do you have one? Father, you are a chosen one; you should be able to tell me!” Her eyes are wide and hopeful and Odin can’t bear to break her heart (again).

“I…It is,” he starts slowly, and Ophelia’s eyes light up, a delightful smile forming, “but not…it’s different from what you expect. So a little bit of yes but mostly no.” He says this all in a rush, keeps his eyes on his daughters and pleads with her to understand when she doesn’t have the whole thing.

Ophelia’s shoulders sag, and the light goes out again. “Dang,” she sighs unhappily, “I really thought it was the Chosen One’s Mark.”

Odin twitches; he really wants to tell her the truth, he should tell her the truth. This might be his last battle, he could possibly die, and with it goes all of his secrets and stories. He feels the words on his tongue, edging closer to escaping, and—

“It means something,” he blurts out. “It is a Chosen One, I know a few people—they saved the world, Ophelia. It runs in your blood. That’s what this mark means.” He taps her arm. “I know it’s not what you were expecting, but…it still means something. And yes, I have it too.” He rubs his shoulder, subconsciously aware of the Mark that is hidden under his clothes and magic. “I can’t show it to you right now, it’s veiled. But I promise you, Ophelia, I will.”

His daughter sits there, at a loss for words. She looks at her father like he is a stranger, as Odin scans her face, biting his lip. And then she throws her arms around his neck, taking him by surprise.

“Okay, Daddy,” she says, and her voice sounds young without the usual theatrics in her tone. “That’s good enough for me. Thank you for telling me the truth.”

 _I didn’t_ , Odin thinks, but he pushes it away. “Okay,” he says, and feels a smile tug at his mouth. “So, now that we’ve talked about _that_ …have you felt anything that makes you feel like a Chosen One?”

He can’t tell the truth yet, even though the last battle looms over him. Coward.

.

.

.

Anankos resurrects King Garon and uses him as a vessel to fight in. While shocking, Kamui and her siblings, both pairs of them, tear through his dead army viciously, and it takes awhile but they do end up killing Garon. It’s quick but it gets done.

Odin didn’t have to touch Garon at all, and he’s very grateful for it. He, Luna, and Lazward lurk near the end of the hallway. Lazward and Luna’s swords are out still, blades pointing down near the edge and Odin still has his tome open. He realizes that technically, the battle is over, but it went by too quickly for it to have finished the war. There is something coming up, a surprise.

“Ready, Odin?” Luna asks, keeping her blade drawn. “This is going to get ugly.” Her eyes dart over to him, briefly, but she doesn’t turn to him, keeping her eyes on the crumbled rocks. On Odin’s right, Lazward’s blade is stretched far in front of him, eyes narrowed. Odin nods; there’s really nothing he can say because this has happened before. Everything they said the first time is what they would say now.

When Anankos withdraws and then returns, this time at full power, he takes the form of—a dragon. A fucking _dragon_. It’s apparently his true form. Oh, the irony.

Luna says, “C’mon,” and they race towards Anankos’s head, all three of them standing before the enemy. Anankos rolls his head and gnashes what might be his teeth; trees sprout from his head and fire foams at his mouth.

“Fear me!” he leers, the words rough in his throat. Odin rolls his eyes and pulls out his tome, the words already in his brain and thunder beginning to crack at his fingertips.

“I’ve dealt with dragons worse than you,” he says quietly, so low that he is sure only the dragon can hear him. “That dragon took away my family. I’m not going to let another one take them again.”

The thunder explodes on contact. Anankos roars, but before he can do anything Lazward is already there, hacking away at the head and Luna’s right behind him, eyes narrowed and tossing her sword in her hands. Anankos screams one last time, a low gurgling noise, before rearing away from the concrete.

Odin stands there, feeling blood roar in his head, his chest heaving raggedly, and the tips of thunder still sparking in his hands. Lazward and Luna surround him for a moment, and they all look at each other, and then at the empty space. They don’t know what to do.

Kamui shoves them aside. “Move _over_ ,” she snarls; Yato blazes in her hands and Odin backs away, taking steps farther and farther back until Anankos is but a green spot. He loses track of Lazward and Luna, but he notices Ophelia and Belka lingering near the edge. He tries to make his way over there, but then he hears a dying rasp echo among the cracked concrete and the glassy stars. When he whirls around, Anankos is withdrawing from the sky, the angry ball of fire and eyes dying, and Kamui stands in front of him defiantly, Yato impaled in the ground.

Anankos shudders one last time, and then he’s gone. Poof.

.

.

.

It’s over, it’s over, it’s finally over and Odin’s heartbeat washes over him, he can’t believe it.

There is almost a primal roar from the army, an excited shriek of the fact that victory parlays them. Odin catches a glimpse of Leo sharing a smile with his Hoshidan counterpart, and of Soleil throwing one arm around a girl with long braids and the other around Ophelia, who waves excitedly at him. _We won,_ she mouths to him, exhilaration on her face, and Odin grins back. When he turns around, Belka faces him; her eyes are light but her smile is a little grim. She’s never had a reason to smile so much, Odin knows, but she’s working on it.

“Over,” she says, and Odin wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Mission complete,” he replies lightly, and she rolls her eyes at him, but nods. Her smile doesn’t lighten, but she leans in and kisses his cheek, which is surprising in its own right, so Odin feels like he accomplished something. She squeezes his fingers lightly and then she walks away, towards Lady Camilla. Odin watches her go, and then scans the crowd for two other familiar faces, his feet headed in no particular direction.

He finds them near the edge of the cliff, standing close together but not touching. Odin approaches them, and Luna whirls around, Lazward already smiling for the both of them. They meet with Odin halfway, and silence fills the spaces between them.

And then Lazward says, “We can go _home_ ,” and his eyes are brimming and Luna laughs and Odin breathes in. There’s nothing else to say because that’s all that’s important; war’s over and they can go.

Odin throws one arm around Lazward and the other around Luna, and together, they breathe one big sigh of relief.

.

.

.

They are walking back to the camp when something occurs to Odin, something that jolts in his step. “Uh—what’s going to happen to Soleil?”

Lazward stops walking and exchanges a guilty look with Luna. “Er—well—”

“She was able to travel with those bandits,” Luna explains carefully. “We think she’ll be able to be independent by herself. But we’re still going to—you know. Ask her to be with Ophelia and Éponine a lot. So she doesn’t get lonely.”

Odin says nothing; of course they’ve already figured out and he’s still scrambling to get the truth down. He kicks himself mentally, feeling anger boil in his veins, but mostly at himself. Lazward glances with Luna, and she sighs, exasperated, before laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell Belka tonight,” she says. “Ophelia, you might have to wait until the morning, but then we can—”

“Can we leave at night?” It sounds selfish and childish to Odin’s own ears, but Lazward nods. Luna rolls her eyes, but then a smile cracks across her lips.

“Yeah, let’s have a grand finale,” she says, very sarcastically, which is a low blow but Odin nods. “But you need to tell them before midnight, Odin. You don’t want them to think that you disappeared off the face of the earth.”

She dusts her hands on her skirt, and then scampers into the darkness, her hair shining red until darkness seeps over it.

.

.

.

Belka is standing in the middle of the tent when Odin comes in. She raises her eyebrows at him. “You look…sad, I think.”

Odin sits on the edge of the bed; it sags underneath his weight, but he doesn’t notice. “I need to tell you something,” he says.

He’s never really stumbled over stories, not really; but this time it’s different, because it’s not one of his make-believe ones, this is a true tale and he can sense Belka’s shock, rolling off in waves. He can’t look at her; he keeps his eyes focused on the ground.

“I’m going back,” he finishes shakily. “Back home, with Sever—Luna and Lazward.” He watches his wife’s reaction nervously, taking in her unsettled frown and the way her foot taps against the floor. The silence stretches on; it almost overwhelms him, like a presenting darkness.

Finally, Belka says, “You’ve been lying to me.” Her voice is flat, robbed of emotion, but Odin thinks he sees the pits of fire glowing in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean-” he tries.

“You’ve been lying to me.”

“But I-”

_“You’ve been lying to me.”_

Odin swallows. His heart is ricocheting in his chest, loud and heavy to his ears. “Yes,” he says, the truth coming out cracked and feeble. “I have.”

Belka sighs, a breathy sound that takes up the whole room. “Okay,” she says, and now her voice is laced with venom, “that’s step one, admitting it.”

It’s like a punch to the face, but Odin supposes he deserves it. “Belka,” he says slowly, “I…come with me.”

Belka’s head snaps up. “ _What_?”

“Please.” Odin clasps his hands together. “You can come with me, my parents are understanding, and—it’ll be fine. It doesn’t have to _be_ like this.” _End_ is what he means; he knows he’ll love her and Ophelia forever, but when he goes back home there is a chance he might never come back. “You can come.”

Belka purses her lips, and then shakes her head. “Sounds…pleasing,” she says stiffly, “but Luna is going with you. And that means Lady Camilla won’t have any retainers left.”

Odin’s heart sinks into the abyss again. “Oh. Right.”

Belka just shakes her head. “Odin,” she begins, and then pauses. Then, “I’ll tell the others. Not the truth, but something. And I’ll watch over Soleil for Luna; tell her that. But two things.” She holds up her fingers for effect. “I am _not_ telling our daughter. That’s on you. And you should explain things to Lord Leo, too.”

Odin nods. “Fair enough. I was planning on it.”

Belka doesn’t respond to this, just nods curtly. She crosses her arms, looks out of the tent, and says, “You better—prepare.” She looks like she wants to say more, but clamps her mouth shut and exits his tent.

She’s mad, she’s disappointed, she’s a lot of emotions. Odin isn’t used to this; it’s almost uncomfortable. But he understands why she feels this way, and though it hurts, he was the one who caused this mess of emotions.

.

.

.

Telling Leo is easier than telling Ophelia. At least Leo knew he was leaving; though his eyes are disappointed, his mannerisms are still friendly—or at least, as friendly as Leo can get.

“Leaving tonight?” he remarks, his hands folded placidly behind his back. “Okay then.”

Odin nods. “I’m—sorry. You have to find someone new.” _Am I irreplaceable?_  he wants to ask, but he knows better. Leo shrugs, flicks his fingers in the air.

“They won’t be like you.” He says this flatly, but there is a hint of sadness mixed in. “And anyways, maybe I won’t find someone new. Zero can do well on his own.” He smiles a little, which is rare, and Odin grins back. “You’re a strange one, Odin Dark, but thanks for sticking with me.” He puts his fingers together and salutes, which is weird on Leo, but it’s enough to make Odin laugh. Leo shakes his head, and then walks away with a smile on his face and without looking back.

Ophelia is more difficult, and also much harder to track down. Odin finds her in a field of flowers, braiding them together. She drops them and flutters her hands in delight when she sees Odin. “Father!” she cries happily. “To what do I owe to this occasion?”

Odin grins feebly. “Ophelia,” he says, settling on the ground. “I—you know when we talked, before the last battle? That wasn’t…the truth.”

He explains it hastily, but keeps his eyes fastened on his daughter. Ophelia watches, for once keeping silent, although her mouth drops open a few times and her eyes are huge by the time Odin finishes.

“You’re going back?” she asks, her voice strangely high. “Back—back there?”

Odin swallows. “Yes.” When the look of worry befalls on his daughter, he adds, “You can come along with me, if you would like.”

Ophelia bites her lip, and then firmly shakes her head. “I don’t want to go with you,” she says firmly. “Nohr is my home, and—I want you to be _here_ , with me and Mom and _everyone_.” Her voice starts to wobble. “I know this sounds selfish, Daddy, but I don’t want you to go.”

Odin’s hands are shaking. “I have to go back,” he murmurs, shame creeping in his voice. “I’m sorry. Belka will take care of you-”

“But what if I want _you_ for things, not Mom?” Ophelia is crying now, hiccuping. “Dad—Odin—is that even your _name_? Whatever, just please don’t leave me.” She cups her hands around her mouth and cries, rocking back and forth. Odin feels like the killer of joy.

He bites his lip. “I’m sorry,” he repeats again, feeling shameful than ever. “I’m sorry, Ophelia.”

She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “You threw me into a Deeprealm, and you didn’t watch me grow up, and now you’re leaving me and never coming back!” Her voice takes on an angry tone, and Odin cowers. “Gods, Dad!”

“I know.” He catches his voice carefully, and swallows. “I’m a horrible father, Ophelia. But doesn’t mean I don’t love you, and I’m sorry-”

She throws her arms around his neck unexpectedly; it only takes a moment until he hugs back. “I hate you, I hate you,” she mumbles like a mantra, but her arms squeeze tighter around his neck and her tears flow faster.

.

.

.

When night falls, Odin creeps out of his tent like a ghost. He spares a glance at Ophelia’s tent, the light already snuffed out, and says to nobody, “I’m sorry.”

Belka is standing outside her tent when Odin walks by, stiff and crossed. “Goodbye,” she says flatly, no anger or empathy in her voice.

He still reaches for and squeezes her hand anyways, which is probably not something he should’ve done. Belka’s eyes flash, but almost like a spasm, she squeezes back. Barely.

Odin creeps out of camp until he sees the thin silhouettes of Lazward and Luna. It’s impossible to see their faces, but he can sense their emotions like a storm, and can feel a big hand take his; Lazward’s, definitely.

“Feels weird,” Luna says flatly. “Leaving behind—” she jerks her head.

Odin doesn’t want to dwell on it. There’s an empty pit in his stomach. “Ready?” he asks. His body itches to return home, the longing in his blood; he feels very guilty about it, but it doesn't stop the wanting.

Lazward shoulders his bag. “Whenever you are,” he says, and like three shadows they take off running.


End file.
